


The Soldier's Dream

by RoaringMice



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoaringMice/pseuds/RoaringMice
Summary: Reed was standing in the sunlight, on a beach, on Earth, a step away from a brightly painted house. On the house, there was a door. Above the door, there was a sign. And on the sign, it said, quite clearly in English, “Gettin’ Freaky at the Tiki,” and at that, both of his brows nearly flew into his hairline.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 9
Kudos: 177





	The Soldier's Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [away and somewhere else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22376530) by [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/pseuds/susiecarter). 



> Takes place early in season 1, before Shuttlepod One
> 
> This story was inspired by/remixed from "away and somewhere else" by susiecarter. That story is in the DS9 fandom, and if you like that fandom, go read it!

“Commander Tucker and I can handle this for now; go get something to eat,” Reed said, clasping Cruz on the arm. He nodded toward Haddid, working on repairing the nearest terminal. “Take her with you.” As Cruz nodded gratefully, wiping a grimy hand through his hair, Reed moved over toward where Tucker was working. He had to step over fallen debris, but the place was already beginning to look in better order, although there remained much to be done. Still, he felt it best not to exhaust his staff when they had hours ahead of them - so many repairs to make and so much to clean up. He’d sent O’Leary and Martinez to their bunks earlier; better to have them fresh after some kip than have them working exhausted and making mistakes.

His armoury had been severely damaged in the attack by the Thelarians, but nothing that some hard work wouldn’t put right. They already had the major weapons systems back up, so if the Thelarians were to return, they’d be able to defend themselves. The rest of this – he and the Commander could finish what immediately needed done, and the rest could wait a few hours.

Reed wiped his hands on his uniform, wincing as they left dark streaks on the material. Grabbing a couple of ration bars from the pile he’d earlier tossed onto a console, he tore one open and bit into it as he approached Tucker. He could see the man’s feet sticking out from under the console he was repairing, tools strewn around him. “Commander,” he said as he approached. When Tucker didn’t respond, he gently nudged one exposed boot. As Tucker slid out from under the console, Reed handed him the other bar, which Tucker accepted with a nod. He and Tucker might “butt heads”, as the Commander would say, rather often, but he'd freely admit that Tucker was the best engineer he’d ever met, and repairs would go faster if they both got some fuel in them. Low blood sugar wouldn’t help either of their dispositions.

“I’ve dismissed the others, so they can get some rest and some tea, er – supper,” Reed said. He sat on the floor next to the Commander, resting his back against the console behind them, staring out at his armoury. Silence settled between them, interrupted only by the rustling of wrappers.

Reed hadn’t known Tucker for long, and although Tucker had tried to be friendly, Reed preferred to keep their interactions professional. He really wasn’t one to be friends with his superior officers, and between the Captain’s attempts at friendliness and Tucker’s similar efforts, he’d been put in quite the awkward position. So far, he’d managed to push them both off, but he was sure that they didn’t think much of him for doing so. No matter. He wasn’t on this mission for personal relationships.

Finished with his own ration bar, he’d just risen to standing when the lights above him flared with an audible hiss, and he flinched, looking up at them cautiously. It was no surprise that power to the armoury had been impacted by the damage from the attack. Half the lights in the armoury had been broken, but the others had remained functional – at least so far.

Beside him, he heard Tucker give an audible sigh. “Damn it,” Tucker muttered, looking up at the lights. Exchanging a look with Reed, he slid back under the console, murmuring a soft swear as he restarted his work. Just as they seemed to get ahead of repairs in one area, they’d face a setback. One step forward, two steps back, as Tucker had said earlier.

Reed shot a glance to the lights above him, and that was when a floating box came out of the ceiling between two of the fixtures. Reed’s eyes went wide as he tensed, hand going to the weapon at his side. “Commander?” he said softly, hoping to get Tucker’s attention without attracting that of the device, yet knowing the engineer was under the console, unlikely to hear him.

Reed looked at the device, and took a cautious half-step sideways. The box moved with him, then started flashing a bright light. Was this something the Thelarians had left behind? He assessed its approximate dimensions. Small, perhaps a half a metre square, floating approximately a metre down from the ceiling panel. It had left no damage to the surface as it passed. “Commander?” he said, this time louder.

“Yeah, Malcolm?” Reed heard Tucker reply just as the device moved closer. Reed took a quick step back. The light filled his vision, and he raised a hand to shield his face.

x-x

Reed was standing in the sunlight, on a beach, on Earth, a step away from a brightly painted house. He shielded his eyes with a hand, and peered at the house. On the house, there was a door. Above the door, there was a sign. And on the sign, it said, quite clearly in English, “Gettin’ Freaky at the Tiki,” and at that, both of his brows nearly flew into his hairline.

He was on a beach, on Earth, outside someone’s beach house. Someone with a terrible sense of humour. Except he couldn't be there. He knew he couldn't be. He was in his armoury on Enterprise. Or he had been. He felt his pulse racing. There must be an explanation – this was a hallucination caused by the device, or he’d been injured by the thing and was stuck on some bed in sickbay and was imagining all this, or – and this, he didn’t want to think of – the device had him trapped somehow.

He stood and looked at the waves crashing in as they curled up the sand. He felt the warmth of the sun against his face, smelled the sea air, and inhaled deeply.

Looking down at himself, he saw his uniform and weapon were gone, replaced with a white, button up, untucked short sleeved shirt worn over a pair of casual trousers, rolled at the ankle. His feet were bare and covered in the sand he was standing on. He blinked a few more times, looking again at the ocean.

Earth, obviously. Or so it seemed. And based on the heat and humidity, the look of the house, and the few trees he could see, somewhere in the southeastern United States, perhaps somewhere in Florida or South Carolina. Considering the waves, on the Atlantic side. He’d been here often enough during his time in the Academy to recognize it – he preferred the warm water of Florida to the cold of the Pacific, and he didn’t mind the humidity, so long as he was close to the water.

Why would his mind – or the device – have picked Florida as the location for this illusion? Why not San Francisco, or England, or Malaysia, some place more connected to him?

"Babe – you want some nosh?"

He nearly jumped, but instead he stilled himself, and let out a slow breath. A voice from near the house. Southern accent, friendly, male. It was likely in his best interest to play along until he better understood what was going on. Steeling himself, Reed turned to greet the man. He made sure he was already smiling. "I do," he said, assuming that whatever ‘nosh’ was, it was something he was supposed to want.

The person stepped out from the shadow of the porch, and Reed nearly started in surprise, covering the reaction quickly. It was Commander Tucker – older, a bit of grey in the temples; same blue eyes, albeit with a few more wrinkles around them. Trip Tucker. No less attractive than he’d been when he was younger, and staring at Reed now, hand on hip, smiling and waving him onto the porch.

Tucker had called him “Babe”. That was odd – they were nowhere near that level of familiarity, and the very idea of anyone at all calling him “Babe” was… really something else. He needed to figure out what was going on, and in all probability, the best way to do that was play along, to see where all of this went. If it was some sort of trap, he might find out what was going on. And if this was all in his head... well, then playing along likely wouldn’t make things any worse than they were now.

Reed stepped up onto the porch, marveling at the reality of the feel of the boards below his feet. "Thank you," he said aloud. “Trip,” he added, meeting the man’s eyes.

"No worries," the man was saying, settling himself in a chair at a table. His eyes were down as he quickly zipped a grey hoodie, then he looked at Reed again, his mouth curving softly, smile lighting his eyes.

"Likewise," Reed let himself say gently, easing himself down to the chair opposite. He met the man’s eye, and as he did, the man reached over and touched Reed’s hand, squeezing it gently.

Reed looked away, over Tucker’s shoulder to the house, down at his plate, anywhere but at the man in front of him. This was seriously unnerving. This could not be real, and yet the man’s hand felt entirely real – warm, a bit of roughness in the skin of the fingertips, as befitted someone who worked with his hands. It all felt so real – the man’s hand, the pressure of his fingers, the feel of the chair, the table, the breeze, the warmth of the sun.

“Malcolm,” the man said, and Reed’s eyes met his again. “Are you okay?”

“Why?” Reed asked, unsure of where this was going.

“You seem distracted.” Tucker leaned forward a bit. “Did something happen this morning while I was out?”

Unsure of how to respond, Reed gave a slight shrug. “It was fine.” Assuming that the man’s question indicated that they’d spent the morning apart, he asked his own. “How was your morning?”

The man leaned away, and began to speak about the things he’d been doing. In his workshop, for part of the morning, then at a refugee center of some sort. As best Reed could tell, some sort of attack had occurred on the state they were living in, years ago, and people still apparently were displaced. Reed listened intently, trying to pick up clues.

"I reckon I can get it fixed by end of the week," the man continued. Reed again looked down to his plate, playing with the food there, and after some time, the man’s voice came again. "You've been taking it easy, right?"

Reed looked up and met the man's eyes, and was struck by the concern there. Whoever had built this device, created this illusion, had been a bloody genius. "I feel fine," Reed said.

"Sure," the man said, not seeming to have bought what Reed was selling. "You know you’re supposed to be resting, not hiking the beach, right?” He lifted his fork and pointed at Reed with it. “Did you even have breakfast?”

Reed nodded noncommittally, having no idea if this Reed, the man he was here, had done so.

Tucker-who-could-not-possibly-be-Tucker tilted his head, and Reed followed his gaze away from the table and toward a nearby chair. There were devices he didn’t recognize piled haphazardly on its seat, and a padd balanced precariously on top. Tucker reached over and grasped the padd, glancing down at it as he slid it onto the table. “Did you read any of the books I suggested?”

Reed peered surreptitiously at the screen. He saw several titles there, some he recognized, some he did not. Catching one he knew in the list, he volunteered, "‘All Quiet on the Western Front’.” Seeing something cross Tucker’s face – an expression he didn’t quite catch – Reed added with a shrug, “It seemed interesting.”

The man looked at him and frowned, clearly puzzled. Then he asked, “Seriously, are you feeling okay?”

Reed nodded, trying to seem confused, which wasn’t hard under the circumstances. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Sorry,” he said quietly, trying to distract. “I have a headache.”

He heard Tucker push back his chair, then stand behind him. As he started rubbing Reed’s neck gently, he said, “Maybe you should go inside, take a nap.”

Reed nodded again. Maybe he should. If nothing else, going where this man was not might give him some time to think things through, to figure out what was going on here. And if he went indoors, he could search the place, try to gain some clue as to what was going on here. To that end, he let Tucker help him up, and lead him inside.

Reed looked around the house as they walked through it. If this was an illusion, it was remarkable. He could feel the cool of the floorboards beneath his feet. The roughness of the sand on his feet as he wiped them off with a towel. The smoothness of the sheets as Tucker pulled them across him. And despite himself, he let himself relax into the bed, and he fell asleep just as he was, fully clothed.

When Reed woke, it was night, although a bright one, the moon streaming through the windows and lighting up the space. Sitting up on the bed, he let the sheets pool at his lap and took in the room around him. It was fairly neat, although obviously lived in. The floor was wood – not necessarily the best choice for a beach house, what with the sand, although easy to sweep. A couple of windows, curtains pushed back, letting in the moonlight. Laundry spilling out of a hamper, which he could just see through the open closet door. A few pairs of shoes – he assumed Tucker’s - near the door to the corridor. The hoodie Tucker had been wearing earlier hung on the closet door handle. A bureau, which he stood and did a quick search through, as he did through the items in the closet, revealing nothing but what one might expect of a couple of men living together. Nothing he recognized from his own life. He did a quick search of the ensuite loo, finding nothing unexpected.

Giving up on the bedroom, he moved into the corridor. It was a small house, perhaps only two bedrooms. He could see the door for what he assumed was another bedroom down the hall, and an open door for a full bathroom nearby. He left those for later, and instead, went down the corridor toward what seemed to be the only light in the house. There, he found Tucker in the lounge. He’d fallen asleep while reading, his feet slung sideways over the arm of an upholstered chair, the padd on his chest. Trying not to wake him, Reed went past him to the bookshelf. It ran along the entire wall, and was filled with books, photographs, mementos… Reed’s eye was caught by one of the photos, and he ran a finger gently along the frame: himself and Tucker, both wearing black tuxes, kissing on what Reed assumed was their wedding day. Further on, there was another of them with people who, based on the resemblance, were likely Tucker’s family. Then one with his family. It was… unexpected. In the photo he stood in civilian clothing, staring straight at the camera, an attempt at a smile on his face. His father was beside him, so stiff and officious, seeming to still be wearing the uniform even when he was not. And – and here was where things truly got strange – his sister Maddie, beside Tucker, both making silly faces behind his father’s back, his mother giving them an amused side-eye. That photo, he took in hand, and he slid to a seat on the couch, on the end nearest Tucker’s chair.

Reed held the photo while he stared, unseeing, at the room. A photo with his husband and him kissing – that, he’d understand. If this was an illusion or a hallucination, he’d understand that type of photograph having been… made, or imagined, considering the content of the illusion. But this photo? He glanced down at it. This one just didn’t make sense. Not if this was all being constructed by aliens, or created by his own mind. This one was far too unexpected; far too personal.

Reed jumped a bit when he heard Tucker’s voice. “You okay?”

Reed sat straighter, wondering how long he’d been sitting there, how long Tucker had been awake and watching him. Trying to cover for his momentary lapse, he looked to Tucker. “How was your nap?”

“What nap?” Tucker answered, clearly amused. “Only old folks take naps.”

Reed rolled his eyes, playing along. “What are you reading?” he asked.

Tucker gave him a wry smile. “’All Quiet on Western Front’.” He put down the padd, and sat straighter, leaning forward over his legs toward Reed. “Do you remember it now?” he asked softly.

Reed stared at him, unsure where this was going.

“It’s your favorite book.”

Reed held himself very, very still.

Tucker shifted forward, sitting on the edge of the chair. He waved toward the photo Reed was holding. “Christmas in Malaysia, the first time you’d taken me home to meet the family.” When Reed didn’t let himself react, Tucker reached for Reed’s hand. Reed couldn’t help but pull away. Tucker met his eye, carefully evaluating. “It’s okay. It’s related to what you’d been through with the Section. Sometimes, you forget things for a while. It comes back.”

Reed’s hands clenched the picture frame. He tried to relax, to focus on his breathing, to keep his expression neutral. Tucker knew about Section 31, and Reed’s involvement in it. This man somehow KNEW.

No one knew the things this man had just said. No one knew that book was his favorite. No one, except Reed himself. And Tucker didn’t know about Malaysia, Reed thought, his anxiety building. The man had assumed he’d always lived in England based on the accent, and he’d never bothered to correct him. And his time in the Section was classified, and Tucker did NOT have access to those records. Even Archer didn’t have access to those records. How had they – whoever they were – found that out? What else did they know about him, about Enterprise?

Something must have shown on his face, because Tucker suddenly looked unsure. "Hey," Tucker said carefully, voice low. “Are you okay?” He made to stand.

“No,” Reed said sharply. He threw himself forward and hit Tucker hard in the chest with one hand, pushing him and the chair over. The photo hit the floor; he could hear glass break. Tucker flailed, and his back struck the floor. Reed held him there.

Tucker didn't move. He lay there, hands raised, alarm in his eyes. "Malcolm," he said quietly.

"Who are you?" Reed said, holding the man down firmly.

"My name is Trip Tucker," he said, words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm your husband. Do you know where you are?”

Reed felt like he could barely breathe.

"Please," Tucker said more quietly. "My name is Trip Tucker, I'm your husband, and we’re at our house in Florida. Just south of Saint Augustine. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Reed said, although he couldn’t keep the uncertainty from his voice.

“Can I can show you something?” Tucker asked. “Or will moving lead to a slow and painful death?”

Reed hesitated. “I'd be quick,” he said after a moment.

Tucker raised one eyebrow. “I’m sure you would,” he said with an expression that went from a smile to a wince and back again. Then he shifted his hands slowly, eyes locked on Reed’s. He touched Reed’s forehead with the back of one hand, obviously checking for fever, then slid his palms onto Reed’s chest.

“Look at my hand,” Tucker said. “My ring.”

Reed quickly looked down, then back up.

Tucker went on. “It’s the same as yours.”

Reed looked to the hand he had pushed against Tucker’s shirt. The man was right. He was wearing a ring. Silver, simple. Their rings matched.

“I think you’re having a flashback,” Tucker said. Something a bit sad moved across his expression. “You’ll be okay. Just,” he inhaled, then continued, “let me go so I can call the doctor.”

“Phlox?” Reed whispered. His breath was coming fast now. He could feel his hands shaking.

Tucker looked at him in surprise, then shook his head. He searched Reed’s eyes with his own. For what, Reed wasn’t sure. Maybe to find the man he thought he knew, his husband.

Tucker seemed to realize something. “You don’t think this is real.”

Reed shook his head. Because of course it wasn't real. Despite the ring, the photos, he wasn’t married to this man. He couldn’t possibly be. He'd been in his armoury. The device had come through the ceiling, and this was a hallucination, or he was injured and imagining it all. This couldn’t possibly be real. That he should be on Earth at all, let alone that he should somehow end up living here, with… with Trip Tucker, of all people; who knew the titles of the books he liked, who brought him bloody lunch. Who knew about his involvement in Section 31.

He couldn’t have imagined this. Someone who knew everything about him. Who he’d let know those things. Who’d married him anyway. Reed choked back a harsh laugh. "It can't be," Reed said again. “It’s too good to be…” he left that unfinished.

Tucker pulled Reed’s hands away, and Reed slid off of Tucker and onto the floor. He sat there, numb, while Tucker - while Trip knelt in front of him, saying something he didn’t catch. He felt Trip’s hand touch his face, raise his chin, all the while, speaking words, words, words, all flying by him faster than he could grasp them.

Then Trip kissed him – that, he did catch. His hands flew up, grabbing at Trip’s shirt. Trip kissed like they’d been together forever. And perhaps they had. Years must have passed since they’d met. To think of what they must have gone through, to move from the somewhat adversarial relationship they’d had when Reed had last seen him, to this, now. The years he’d missed. Years he’d missed of THIS. Reed leaned into the kiss, closing his eyes, arms going around to pull Trip closer. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. If this wasn’t his actual future, perhaps it wasn’t too late for it to –

Reed gasped. He was in his armoury. Sitting on the floor, Trip Tucker’s worried face hovering in front of him. His head – god, it was murder.

“Jesus, Malcolm,” Trip said, “What the hell happened?”

“Happened?” Reed echoed. How could he be…? His head swam as he struggled to stand, looking frantically around him as Trip helped him up. “There was a device, some sort of…” He pointed a shaky finger toward where it had been. The device was nowhere to be seen, and as far as he could tell, there was no sign the thing had ever been there, no evidence at all. He reached a trembling hand and touched his lips - he could still feel Trip’s against his own; he swore he could. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Then he was leaning forward over his knees, breathing heavily.

He could hear Trip’s voice, soft swears and muttered imprecations coming from nearby. Then Trip strode to the wall.

Reed exhaled loudly. He could hear Trip talking to Phlox. “He just called out for me a second ago; I have no idea what the hell happened.” Reed missed the rest of what was said as the floor rushed up to meet him.

x-x

“Is Trip – Commander Tucker, is he all right?” Reed asked as Phlox and one of his medics buzzed around him. He kept his hands wrapped around the edge of the bed, anchoring himself there as the room swam. His head was killing him. He was nauseous as hell. And he could swear he could still feel the touch of Trip’s lips on his own.

“Lie down, please,” Phlox said.

“Is he all right?” Reed repeated. He looked around sickbay – for the device, for Trip, he wasn’t sure.

“He’s quite well, Lieutenant,” Phlox said. Reed felt someone – the medic – pushing him back, lying him down on the bed. Then pressure on his upper arm. “Just something to get your blood sugar back in order,” the Doctor added, and Reed almost immediately felt some of the dizziness lift. “You say there had been a device?” Phlox asked, shining a light into Reed’s eyes. He moved the light away, then back. 

“We should have someone check…” Reed said, trying to sit again.

The Doctor pressed a gentle hand against his shoulder, stilling him. “When was the last time you ate?” Phlox asked.

“Back at the beach house, with Trip,” Reed answered before he could think. He knew he was sunk by the look that crossed Phlox’s face, just as quickly gone, which was made worse, perhaps, by the fact that he realized he hadn’t actually ate anything then, and the most he’d had all day was that protein bar from earlier. So now Phlox not only likely thought him mad, he’d also effectively dismiss any possibility of there actually having been a device. Reed determined he’d let Phlox do whatever the man wanted to do, even if that meant sticking an eel somewhere where eels should not go, so that he could get out of here and get his team to run a search.

Phlox exchanged a look with the medic, and the man moved off, likely to get Reed some IV administered dinner. Then Phlox surprised him. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” he said. “Commander Tucker had your team do a search. They found no evidence of intruders or devices.”

Ah, thought Reed. So perhaps it had all been in his head. He’d become addled from lack of food, or illness, or… No. Regardless, the sooner Phlox finished with him, the sooner he might be released. Not that he didn’t trust his team, but he wanted to get back to his armoury himself to check, he thought, closing his eyes for a moment.

Some time later he woke – he was unsure of the time or how long he’d been out, but it was late enough that Phlox’s animals had their covers across their cages, and the Doctor himself was nowhere to be seen. Feeling massively better, he sat up on the bed, careful to be quiet. There was a bandage on the inside crook of his arm, the only evidence – beyond the fact that he was somehow, through Phlox’s magic, wearing scrubs – of what he’d been through. Sliding to his feet, he curled his toes against the cold floor and took a quick look around – no signs of the device, not that he’d expected any.

Perhaps what Phlox suspected was right – this was merely the result of illness or his having not eaten or some combination of both. The whole thing had been a hallucination. It must have been. It certainly couldn’t have been real. No matter what he thought he remembered, or had felt, it couldn’t have been real. The best thing he could do was to push the memories aside, and move on.

And he intended to do so. Right until he pushed the curtain around his bed aside, and saw him. Sitting in a chair next to the other bed, haloed by the light of a lamp standing behind him. Sandy hair, blue eyes staring at the padd before him. Younger than he had been when he’d last seen him in the beach house. And yet, unmistakably, Trip Tucker. His husband. Perhaps. Someday. If he wanted it. If he was willing to take the chance.

Not giving himself time to think, he walked the distance. As he reached Trip’s side he asked, “Are you waiting for me?”

Trip looked up in surprise, obviously not having heard him approach. “Hey, Lieutenant. Yeah, actually,” he added, rubbing the stiffness out of the back of his neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Reed said with a small smile. “Better,” he said in reply to the look Trip gave him. “Phlox told me you weren’t affected.”

“Nope.” Trip sat back in the chair, looking up at Reed. “Didn’t even realize anything was wrong until I saw you. Are you sure you’re okay? You were kind of…” he tilted his hand back and forth, “…wobbly.”

“That’s one way to describe it.” Reed gave a small laugh. “I’m feeling better.”

“Eels?” Trip said with a wince.

“Not as far as I know,” Reed replied. He waved a hand toward the padd. “What is it you were so involved in?”

Trip looked a bit puzzled, no doubt unused to Reed’s taking such an interest. Then he replied, “Um, an old book; ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’.”

“Really?” Reed found himself saying. He put a hand on Trip’s shoulder as he peered down at the padd. “That’s my favorite novel.”

“Cool,” Trip said. He tapped the padd with a finger. “It’s pretty damn good.”

Reed didn’t just remove his hand. Instead, he slid his hand down Trip’s arm, then away. As he did, he caught the edge of a blush crossing Trip’s face, and he thought, “Ah!” Smothering a smile, he grabbed the nearest chair and sat, facing Trip. Blowing right past his own nervousness, he asked, “Would you join me for dinner?”

“Now?” At Reed’s answering nod, Trip raised both eyebrows, but he was smiling. “It’s past midnight.” He looked Reed up and down. “And you’re wearing scrubs.” He settled on Reed’s bare feet. “Damn, aren’t you cold?”

Reed waved that away. “Phlox wants me to eat something,” he said, knowing it was probably true. “I can put on clothing,” he added, his smile turning a bit wry. “We can talk about the book.” He cocked his head to the side. “And I was thinking, Commander –“

“Trip.”

“Trip,” Reed rephrased, his tone gone gentle. He bit his lip, then he met Trip’s eye. “I was thinking that it was time we got to know each other a bit better.”

Trip smiled full on now. “I think I might like that.”

x-x

End

x-x

Please give kudos and comments! Thank you! 


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